


Marriage and Misconduct

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: And let's also make it really obvious while I'm at it., Because let's just get all the stereotypes out there, Eloping to Gretna Green, F/M, Rumbelle Showdown 2015, regency au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3812914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumbelle Showdown 2015 prompts:  Christmas Regency Perdita</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My second foray in the Showdown was under the name of Princess Dye. I was eliminated after the first round. (And rightly so — have you read the other three stories in my bracket? Wonderful!)
> 
> I loved my prompts, though. My first real fandom was Jane Austen so it was like going back to my roots, so to speak (I actually wrote modern AUs). I thought about fleshing this out a bit but decided against it although I did fix some errors.

Belle curtsied her way through the receiving line before she was released by her companion to fend for herself among the crowd. The Christmas ball was a last minute engagement though one wouldn't know it by the throng of people who had managed to find themselves available for a chance to empty Sir Silas Gold's famous wine cellar. That so many people traveled the muddy, pitted roads during the winter was proof that they expected to be well entertained for their efforts- either at the expense of his purse or by the hope of a scandal to keep them deliciously occupied until the next Season. Both would have been preferred, of  course.

She used her fan and her elbows judiciously, having had her train trod upon twice before she managed to reach the other  end of the ballroom and, of course, the windows were closed tight against the frozen night air. She could see the terrace just on the other side, lit up by torches which gave the garden an ethereal, fairy-like quality that she longed to explore. Balls were not her  thing as her Mama had once said, but her Papa, still smarting over her unmarried status, had insisted they attend. That he allowed her to come despite Sir Silas' reputation told her how desperate he was to offload her once and for all. He never would have permitted her to set foot in this house otherwise.

The music, the chatter, the crush, and the heat all combined to make her head hurt, so  rather than seek out Perdita, her paid companion and primary chaperone when her papa couldn't make the effort, she made her way over to the French doors, jiggled them open and slipped out into the night.

The frigid air slammed into her after the stuffiness  of the ballroom, chilling her almost instantly, but she pressed on further into the garden, the path swept clear of snow so that her  dainty dance slippers wouldn't take too much damp, and followed the line of torches until she found herself in front of an ornate folly at the top of a small hill overlooking the grounds.

She turned to look back at the path to the house, wondering if she'd been missed already. She could hear the idle laughter of the party-goers in the distance, the music no longer overpowering, but lilting through the breeze as if a band of fairies had taken residence nearby. The folly was also lit within and she could see that there were couches and furs set out for those who were brave enough — or past redemption — to venture out into the winter's air. Such a thing should not have crossed her mind, but Belle had never been one to do the obvious thing and preferred to go her own way.

One by one, the torches were extinguished and she was left to either go into the folly or find her way back to the main house in the dark. Her future or her past, either way the choice was  hers.

She took charge of her fate and entered the folly.

The folly was heated at one end by a blazing fire and she quickly made her way to it, stripping off her gloves as she skirted the furniture. The trek from the house had chilled her more than she thought.

“Were you followed,” a low voice behind her asked. It was thick and rich with an accent she knew as well as her own.

She spun around, shoulders squared and chin up, breathing with barely concealed  excitement. He had been waiting for her.

“No. No one followed me,” she said, slightly out of breath from her escape and the thing she was about to do.

Sir Silas Gold was a man just on the wrong side of forty to be considered a desirable catch, but he was the only one who had intrigued her enough to even consider an offer. Scandal surrounded him despite his rise to the knighthood, his vast fortune neither inherited or respectable having been acquired in trade with his own two hands and questionable business dealings. His first wife left him a cuckold, the whole sordid affair resulting in a well-publicized divorce that shocked the  ton and set its chins wagging for months. Sir Silas disappeared from  society afterwards with his son and heir, Baelfire, who was only a child when his mother left for the West Indies with her captain.

Sir Silas emerged from his estate in Scotland when Baelfire came up from Oxford and then re-entered society when his  son decided that it was time to look for a wife. Silas' presence  hovering in the background was very nearly a hindrance as no one entirely forgot the reason for his self-imposed exile, but most  people, ever pragmatic, remembered his money and landholdings better than they had any scandal and that he had the means to buy and sell  any of them several times over. The upper nobility snubbed every overture he made, but for Baelfire, he would endure a great many indignities if they helped his cause.

He hadn't been admitted to Almack's, and Lord knows he wouldn't have set foot inside that  insipid place for all the money in the world, but he was a frequent visitor to Lady Nolan's parlor where Belle had first laid eyes on him during her second Season. They met infrequently and clandestinely after that, her father determined that she make a respectable match — aristocracy if she could manage it, landed gentry if she couldn't. Anything and everything from Baronet to Duke was fair game as far as Sir Maurice was concerned.

Belle had other ideas about matrimony. She would have accepted a proposal from any gentleman if she liked him well enough and he if treated her as an equal, but the problem was, she liked none that liked her. Those that had made an offer were distasteful in every way and so she rejected each of them in turn, earning a reputation as a shrew and impossible to please. Belle was ever thankful that her papa allowed her the freedom to choose, but she knew without a doubt, that he would rather see her shipped off to the colonies than have her handed over to Sir Silas as his wife.

She glanced at the open doorway quickly before letting her eyes linger on her host with appreciation.

Sir Silas Gold wasn't the most striking figure she'd seen among the young bucks about town, but he was definitely  the most memorable. His hair, unclipped, unfrizzled, and unfashionably long, lay flat upon his head and hung over the high collar of his coat in a tail tied with a simple black ribbon. He wore long trousers tucked into tall boots no matter how formal the  occasion, a concession made for a badly injured ankle for which he used a cane.

“The ball is a crush,” she said, looking down at her bare hands, squeezing and twisting her gloves restlessly. “You are to be congratulated.” She glanced up at him with a twinkle in her eyes, knowing he would wish everyone to Jericho if he could.

“It has nothing to do with me. It's all Baelfire's doing,” he said, gruffly, waving her compliment  away with a flick of his hand as he stepped closer until he stood so that she had to look nearly straight up in order to see his face. He tucked a curl behind an ear, softly caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. His breathing was just as labored as hers and, this close, she saw how much her presence affected him. It seems she wasn't the only one excited about what they were about to do.

His tongue darted out, licking his dry lips. “But you'll be missed soon and so I would ask you: have you made your decision?”

As if it wasn't crystal clear already by her very presence in the room with him, but Belle appreciated that he asked, leaving her ruination entirely up to her.

“I have, sir,” she said, holding back a smirk, looking up at him.

“And?” He held his breath, mouth slightly open

“And I will go with you.”

“It's forever...” he hedged.

“Forever,” she agreed placing her hand on his, drawing him near so she could see the flecks of gold in reflected in his brown eyes. She hesitated, then stood up on her tiptoes, bringing his mouth down to her with the push of her hand on the back of his head, yanking out the ribbon and threading her fingers in his soft hair.

It wasn't the first time they’d kissed, but Belle sensed a conclusion of their agreement, sealing it with a finality that no man would be able to break. Silas's breath hitched as she scraped her nails against his scalp. 

“Are you ready, Belle,” he breathed against her neck, his ardor apparent against her leg.

“Yes. Let us go.”

He took her hand in his and led her to the waiting carriage on the far side of the hill. They would be married in Scotland by dawn.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scenes.

**Anonymous asked: Marriage and Misconduct!Rumbelle, how's the married life treating you?**

 

Belle stretched, arms poking out of the downy coverlet, groaning with the effort of arching her back until her backside bumped up against something warm and a bit hairy and hard causing her to pull up short with a soft yelp of surprise. A deep, throaty chuckle sounded in her ear.

She opened her eyes wide, startled, before she relaxed once more, melting into the comforting embrace of her new husband with a contented sound. He held her close to him, nuzzling her neck with his nose before softening his grip, but the hardness was still poking at her. Belle had never been a wife before and, though her wedding night had been pleasurable and eye opening, the newness of it all was quite overwhelming.

“You wake up like a kitten, my lovely wife,” Silas whispered in her ear.

She turned around quickly, the covers and sheets rolling under her and exposing Silas’ chest and arms to her gaze. There had been little light the night before so their activities had taken place in candlelight, but the morning sun was well up into the sky and their curtains were wide open to let in the light — who had done that and when, she wondered before turning her attention back to Silas.

He beamed down at her, his head propped up in one hand as he gazed at her with a warm fondness that melted her insides, reminding her that she was loved dearly. His hair, free from its ties, hung in his face, soft and touchable and tickling her face as he leaned over to give her another nuzzle.

‘“Who’s a kitten, Sir,” she asked, tugging the covers up under her chin. She was naked, she realized. Naked and ready, but still shy of being seen. And yet, she wanted to see him. And be with him again. She just didn’t know how to bring the subject up.

“You are,” Silas said, leaning down to quickly kiss her on the nose and, though the kiss was chaste, the hard insistence of him twitching against her thigh spoke of other activities. She wrapped a leg over him, pulling him closer to her, the surprised widening of his eyes worth the flush that accompanied her brazen act.

Interest piqued, he hooked a finger over the edge of her blanket and pulled it down over her chest and shoulders to expose the swell of her breasts, which were now cherry red and blotchy in her embarrassment.

“My dear, this blush is certainly becoming, but I have to wonder what it’s about,” he said with that teasing voice that had first captured her attention all those months ago.

She laughed nervously, biting her lip as she contemplated how much to confess to him. “I was wondering if I should curtsy.”

He blinked, mouth dropping open before he burst into laughter, holding her close to him. She listened to him, face pressed against his smooth chest as it moved with his mirth. His good mood did nothing to lessen the stiffness against her and she wiggled closer until the tip of him bumped up against the apex between her thighs.

The sensation of him just there made her gasp, holding back a needy moan. She bit his chest instead, bring his laughter to an end with a clutch of his hands on her back and his hips thrusting against her.

He groaned in her ear, low and full of want. “If you curtsy, sweetheart, you would find yourself… well, you would find myself.” He leaned back, stroking the hair out of her face so he could stare at her face. He was breathing hard through his mouth, his breath gusting over her face in short, warm bursts.

“I think I would like that, sir,” she said, tightening her leg around him.

“Oh, my sweet Belle,” he groaned as he shifted his hips, bringing that delicious hardness closer to where she wanted it.

Belle closed her eyes in anticipation of the stretching as he slid into her, but a ruthless pounding at the door prevented any sort of penetration.

“We know you are in there!” her father’s voice, muffled but angry called out through the house. “I demand to see Belle!”

Silas cursed against her neck and her leg flopped down off his hip. His face was flushed and he looked nearly wild, either with anticipation of their activities or for the fight that was brewing outside the inn’s door, she didn’t know. But, one thing Belle did know, it was time to face the music.

* * *

 

**Anonymous asked: Marriage and Misconduct!Belle &Gold, how hard was facing Belle's enraged father? Did you manage to convince him of your happiness?**

  


“Good morning, Papa,” she said when she entered the room, holding her head up with dignity. “I trust you’re well?”

Maurice’s face went purple with rage. “Don’t you try to fob me off with false politeness, girl! What has he done to you?”

It was Belle’s turn to change color, this time with embarrassment for how could she explain exactly what it was her husband did to her last night without dying a slow death from excruciating mortification? Then she realized precisely what her father meant and, after a couple of deep breaths, she replied with equanimity, “I married him, father. We are in love and we got married and I’m very happy.”

“Belle,” her father sighed, deflating at her words. “You can’t mean that.”

It was her turn to become angry, for if there was one thing she hated above all, it was being told what she did or did not like. She was happy with her choice of husband, she would do it all again if she must, and she would greatly appreciate the compliment of being believed. She explained this to her father in no uncertain terms until he had sunk down into a chair with his head hanging down.

“I do not like that you are questioning me, Father. No one decides my fate but me. Not you nor my new husband,” she told him.

“Indeed, I dare not,” the man himself said at the doorway, observing the scene in front of him with a frown. “I’ve been on the receiving end of your ire before and I would not be so again,” he said, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles, his eyes searching her face for any sort of discomfort. Finding nothing to cause him alarm, he turned his attention back to his wife’s father. “Sir, I hope you are well.”

Sir Maurice rolled his eyes at him, muttering, “peas in a pod,” under his breath before he pulled himself up out of the chair to come tower over his new son-in-law. “Sir Silas, your reputation is repugnant, your origins suspect, and your presence isn’t received by respectable families and now my daughter is tainted with it. What have you to say for yourself?”

Silas shrugged, walking to the fireplace to stare within its depths before facing Belle with an unreadable expression. “I’ve tried explaining that to her myself. Belle would have none of it,” he said looking at her with a knowing smile. “She was quite persistent and I found myself unable to resist any longer.”

“We’re happy, Papa,” she said, earnestly. “I love him and I’m happy and I can’t explain it any more than that. We’re married and no one may come between us,” she said in a gentle voice, but the warning was there just the same.

Maurice nodded his head as he fetched his hat from floor where he’d tossed it in his haste then turned towards Belle, tears swimming in his eyes.

“Goodbye, Belle,” he said.

“It’s not goodbye, Papa,” she told him, placing her hand on his arm. “I’ll see you soon, after we’ve come home from Scotland.”

They walked him to the door and watched him climb up into the carriage and waved him away before turning towards each other.   
  


“What now?” he asked.

“Now we finish what we’ve started,” she told him, her eyes sparkling with love.

 


End file.
